Strange Magic
by musicprincess1990
Summary: Bee is an average girl, who is about to receive an extraordinary opportunity. "Her fingers shook as she removed the tiny scroll of paper. Five words were written in an elegant hand, which caused her heart to race and her head to spin: 'It's real. Keep the owl.'" EXTREME AU, also includes some romance between various pairings.
1. Grandma's Visit

A/N: I know I said that I was done writing, but this baby just came out of nowhere, and within just a few hours, I had this entire chapter finished, as well as a basic plot outline. Woot! So I trust you won't be too upset if I sort of change my mind and put up another story for your reading pleasure. ;)

All _Harry Potter_ books and franchise are property of J.K. Rowling. She is the Queen, and thus it shall remain. *bows down* However, I am taking the liberty (also known as artistic license) of putting my own twist on things, hence the mentioning of AU in the summary. If you're a Potter Purist—i.e., you accept canon and nothing else—you might want to find some other story to read. I'd love you to read and review, but I'm not particularly fond of receiving flames. I think they're unnecessary and immature, so if you don't think you'd enjoy a strange and slightly controversial take on the HP universe, please, spare _yourself_ the misery and stop reading right now.

If you think you _will_ enjoy this, by all means, read and review! And this is the end of yet another scarily-long author's note. Enjoy!

* * *

**July, 2007**

_~The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.~_

Bee smiled to herself, wiping away a few stray tears, as she closed _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, the latest and last installment of her favorite series. It was a perfect ending, yet she wished it didn't have to end. But then, she reminded herself with a smile, it really didn't. She could reread each of the books as often as she liked. Heaven knows she did that already.

Glancing at her bookshelf, she spotted the worn, battered copy of _The Sorcerer's Stone_, and let her eyes wander over the other five books in the set. They were each in varying degrees of damage, having been read more times than she could count. How she loved to return to the pages again and again, to lose herself in the story. The characters came alive in her imagination, almost as real to her as the people with whom she associated on a daily basis. Some days, she wished she could abandon this world for _that_ one.

But, of course, she couldn't.

Right on cue, her wake-up call came bursting into her bedroom in the form of a ten-year-old girl—Bee's little sister, Julie.

"Ugh, you're reading that stupid book _again?_" she sneered, tossing her long, blonde locks over her shoulder. "Seriously, Bee, you need to get a _life!_"

Bee hugged the book to her chest protectively. "This is the new one," she defended herself, and Harry, too. "And what would you know about having a life, Jules? You're only _ten!_"

"And you're seventeen, and I already have more of a life than you," Julie sniffed in a manner that greatly reminded Bee of Narcissa Malfoy (pre-_Hallows_, of course). "And _don't_ call me Jules!"

Rolling her eyes, she snarled, "Did you want something, brat?"

"Mom says Grandma's coming over for dinner."

Bee groaned inwardly. She hadn't seen her maternal grandmother in almost three years. Grandma Norene lived in Hertfordshire, England, and it was hard for her to travel, so she only came to see them every few years. Bee supposed it was better that way, since each visit came as a less than pleasant surprise, no matter how much time had passed since the previous one. It wasn't that she didn't like her grandmother. There was just something about her that... didn't seem right. Bee had tried for the past seventeen years to figure out what it was, but never managed to find the answer. Finally, she just gave up, and accepted the fact that Norene Wilkins was just _weird_.

She was old—_very_ old—and had a penchant for telling the same stories multiple times. And she smelled like bar soap and Noxzema. But worst of all, she _loved_ to pinch Bee's cheek and call her by her real name. "Bee" was just a nickname for Blythe Elizabeth Elliot. What the hell had her parents been thinking? Then again, her mother's name was Verity, so she guessed ugly names were part of the genetic code (she aimed to change that). It really was fortunate that, in kindergarten, Bee realized that her initials spelled the word "bee," or she might have been exposed to an entire childhood of censure and mockery.

"What time is she coming?" Bee asked.

"If I were your personal messenger, I'd tell you, but I'm not, so you can go ask Mom yourself," Julie snipped, then turned on her heel and bounced out of the room.

"Brat," she muttered under her breath, cursing her sense of family obligation, which prevented her from calling her sister a much stronger word, even in private.

With a groan, out loud this time, she rolled off her bed and walked over to the largest bookshelf. Lovingly, she slid _The Deathly Hallows_ into its place, then turned to her closet to find something appropriate to wear. Her parents were fine with her typical, casual ensemble of cutoffs and a sporty tank top, but Grandma was terribly old-fashioned, and believed that dinner was something to dress up for. Bee pulled out her favorite pair of jeans and paired them with a red, sleeveless blouse. She didn't bother with makeup—no one would notice anyway—but she did pull some of her short, chocolate-colored hair back away from her face, leaving a strand on each side of her face, which brought out the blue in her eyes.

At that moment, she heard the doorbell ring. Suppressing another groan, Bee took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on her face before heading down the stairs. She heard Grandma's voice above everyone else's, a slightly high-pitched warble that pierced her eardrum and caused the hairs on her neck to stand on end.

With another breath, Bee hopped off the last step, and rounded the corner into the living room. Grandma turned around instantly and grinned, showing off her yellowed teeth. She was dressed in one of her usual mismatched, patchwork dresses, with a mauve, knitted shawl draped over her shoulders, and a pair of crocs. She always did have a bizarre sense of style. Her white hair was pulled into a bun, and her face bore so many wrinkles, Bee was half-convinced her skin was fake and one good tug would pull it all off. _Ew_, she thought.

"Here's little Blythe," Grandma cooed in her prim, British accent, while holding out her arms.

Bee fought a scowl. "It's Bee," she corrected, but as always, it fell on deaf ears.

Grandma chuckled and stepped toward her, pulling me into a hug. Bee awkwardly patted her back, counting down from ten in her mind. When she was finally released, Norene lifted a hand and pinched her cheek, just like she'd been expecting. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, and instead bit down on her tongue. Her only consolation was the fact that Julie was sitting on the couch, pouting and sporting a very red cheek, telltale signs of the Grandma-pinch.

"Still as lovely as ever," she warbled. "Tell me, how old are you now?"

"Seventeen," Bee replied.

The old woman's eyes grew wide. "Really? Seventeen?" She beamed. "An important age for a young woman! How are you liking it?"

Bee frowned. "It's okay, I guess."

It was Grandma's turn to frown. "Okay? Just okay?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing special has happened yet."

Grandma bristled slightly, but she quickly composed herself, and was once more grinning up at her granddaughter. "Well, we'll just have to change that, won't we?" she said with a wink.

"Er..."

"Dinner's ready!" Mom's voice announced from the kitchen. Happy to be freed from Grandma's odd comments and pinching fingers, Bee half-sprinted into the kitchen and began helping her mother set the table. She silently hoped that she wouldn't have to sit next to Grandma. As luck would have it, her grandmother situated herself beside Julie, who made no effort to conceal her grimace. That put Bee across from her, which was infinitely preferable.

Once everyone was seated, Mom smiled. "Well, dig in, everyone!"

They didn't need telling twice. Conversation was minimal, which was the norm for the Elliot family. Too much talking inevitably led to fights between the two girls. They ate in relative silence until they finished. Bee helped Mom clear the plates and put the leftovers in the fridge, then they moved into the living room again.

"So," Grandma broke the silence rather abruptly when they were all sitting, "how is school, Blythe?"

Bee cringed internally at her name, but forced herself to remain impassive. "It's all right," she said. "I'm doing really well in English and Fine Arts."

"How nice," Grandma smiled. "Which of the Arts is your preference?"

"Piano," Bee replied.

"You know, your grandfather used to love to play the piano," she said, her voice taking on a nostalgic, story-telling tone. "He would play for hours on end, coaxing whatever melodies he could from those ebony and ivory keys."

"I actually _didn't_ know that," Bee frowned, surprised. She thought she'd heard all of Grandma's stories by now.

"Oh, yes... he was quite the skilled pianist. And then that dreadful disease kept him in bed until his death, I'm afraid. I think not being able to play sent him to an early grave. Well," she amended, "earlier than it might have been if he could have kept playing. It pained him to be without his music."

Bee felt something she hadn't felt in a very long time when in her grandmother's presence: sympathy. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

She waved her off with a smile, then changed the subject. "You mentioned English as well, dear. Are you a reader or a writer?"

"Oh, she's a reader," Julie sneered. "She spends hours and hours locked up in her room, reading book after book. Sometimes, she reads books more than once."

Before Bee could even come up with an acceptable retort, Grandma said, "And what, may I ask, is wrong with that? Books were meant to be read and reread. They don't do anyone any good sitting on a shelf."

"I like movies," the ten-year-old turned the conversation back to herself, a skill she had perfected. "Who needs to read a book when you can _watch_ the story?"

"It's not the same," Bee rolled her eyes.

"I agree," Grandma nodded. "When you read, you don't just _watch_ a story. You _live_ it, you _breathe _it. The characters and scenes surround you, and you're transported into their world. And no matter how many times you've read the same book, they will always welcome you back with open arms."

Bee stared at the woman she'd inwardly insulted and judged for years, the same woman who had just stated her innermost thoughts in an almost poetic fashion. Who was she? Her grandmother, her own relative, and yet she seemed like a stranger. It was puzzling, to say the least, to think that someone she barely knew could express her feelings, without having conversed with her about them.

"Julie," Mom said, "it's getting late, you should get ready for bed."

Her sister groaned. "It's not fair! Bee doesn't have to go to bed!"

"Bee's older," she pointed out. "And she doesn't start school for another month. _You_ start school tomorrow. Bed, now."

It was too tempting to resist; as Julie walked past, Bee tossed a discreet smirk that only Julie could see. She growled and stomped her way up the stairs, leaving Bee alone with Grandma.

"A spirited girl," she mused, gesturing toward the staircase, which Julie had nearly destroyed in her anger. "Quite a temper, but she'll soon grow out of that."

Bee snorted. "Not likely."

Grandma studied her carefully, but said nothing for a long time. Finally, she asked her, "Out of curiosity, dear, what sorts of books do you like to read?"

"Oh, everything," Bee smiled. "Mysteries, adventure, romance, science fiction, _non_-fiction, and fantasy. Especially fantasy," she added with a grin, "But the best ones are the books that combine three or more of the elements into one, like the _Harry Potter_ series. It's got almost every good thing piled into one series, while still leaving room for the characters to grow."

"Sounds delightful," Grandma said. Bee didn't miss the twinkle in her eye as she spoke, or the knowing smile that graced her wrinkled face. She had a secret, some kind of inside joke that she was sharing with herself. And Bee wanted to know _what_.

"What about you, Grandma?" she asked. "What are _your_ favorite books?"

"Well, I'm much like you, dear, I take a bit of everything. However, I can't say that I've read the _Harry Potter_ books. Witchcraft, yes?"

Bee tensed; was she in for a lecture? "Yes," she replied. "They go to a school called Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Grandma smiled again. "You'd like to live there, wouldn't you?" She remained silent, stunned. "Don't be alarmed, dear, I certainly can't read minds. I heard it in your voice. You spoke of it reverently, with a touch of longing."

Despite herself, Bee felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "Yeah... I do wish I could go, sometimes. But I know it's just fantasy," she added hastily. "I'm not one of those people who buries themselves into their dream worlds and refused to believe in reality. I know the difference between the two."

The older woman's eyes narrowed, and that knowing smile came back. "I'm sure you do," she said after a pause. "But darling, there's no need to be ashamed of loving and longing for a magical world. We all have moments when we wish to abandon the real, in favor of the _sur_real."

"I know," she shrugged. "I just... didn't want you to think I was..."

"Crazy?" Grandma guessed, and her eyes twinkled again. "Well, I for one believe that sanity is a relative term, and therefore indefinable. However, based on the average accepted norms, I don't doubt you're as sane as they come."

Bee smiled in relief. "I'm glad."

Grandma watched her for a moment, then took a breath, as if she were about to say something else, but then she just smiled and shook her head. "All in good time," she whispered, more to herself, but at the same time, Bee had to wonder if she hadn't meant for her to hear it. But before she could say anything, Grandma stood. "I think I should be going now. I hope to see you soon, my dear."

As she turned to leave, Bee felt a flash of panic. She had never felt so connected to another human being, and she didn't want the feeling to go away. "Grandma, wait!" she blurted without thinking. "C-couldn't you stay?"

"I believe that's up to your mother to decide," she replied gently.

"What's up to me to decide?" Mom asked, appearing a moment later.

"Can Grandma stay the night?"

Mom's eyes widened in shock. "You... you want her to stay here?"

"I-I just think it would be more convenient for her," she hedged. "I mean, it's dark out, and it's getting late, and who knows what kind of freaks might be out tonight, so I think she'd rather stay here tonight."

"Oh, I'm fine either way, dear," Grandma provided unhelpfully.

"Well... I still think it's safer," Bee added lamely.

Mom's eyes narrowed, and Bee had the distinct impression that she could see right through her. Then Mom turned to look at Grandma, and her eyes became slits. "I suppose that would be all right," she said cautiously. "I'll fix up the guest room."

"Great!" Bee exclaimed. Then, with a smile, she bade good night to both her mother and grandmother, before hurrying up the stairs. Once in the privacy of her room, she did a happy dance, careful not to make too much noise. She wasn't sure what had made the difference, why she suddenly felt so connected with Grandma Norene, but she did know that she was anxious to find out.

After a quick shower, Bee changed into her pajamas and collapsed happily onto her bed, pulling the blankets over her. She let out a quiet giggle, then turned off the lamp on her bedside table, and forced herself to relax.

Just as Bee could feel the tiredness seeping in and pulling her under, she heard a noise that brought her back to consciousness. She frowned, trying to identify the sound, but couldn't come up with anything. Convinced she'd imagined it, she closed her eyes... only to hear it again. It was a sharp, quick tapping noise. Bee remained silent, waiting for it to come a third time. When it did, it was accompanied by a soft, somewhat musical sound, and a sort of... fluttering, quick and rhythmic. It almost sounded like... an _owl_...

In a split second, Bee leapt from her bed and tossed open the window. She gasped excitedly as her suspicions were confirmed. Hovering just outside was a beautiful barn owl, with something tied to its talon. Bee stepped away from the window, and gestured for it to come inside. The owl swooped in and landed on her bed, holding out the talon to which its message was attached. Her fingers shook as she removed the tiny scroll of paper. Five words were written in an elegant hand, which caused her heart to race and her head to spin:

_It's real. Keep the owl_.

* * *

A/N: Like it? Love it? Not sure what to make of it? Please let me know in a review!


	2. The Truth

A/N: PLEASE READ THIS NOTE!

Just so you know, this is going to be somewhat of a controversial chapter. Again, if you don't think you can handle the AU, non-canon-ness of this story, it'd probably be best if you just stopped reading now. This chapter, in particular, will probably test the boundaries of your imagination, so I want to make a few disclaimers.

First: As always, _Harry Potter_ does not belong to me. Never has, never will. It is the property of J.K. Rowling.

Second: Despite what you will read in this chapter, I think very, _very_ highly of J.K. Rowling. She is a genius and an inspiration. The content in this story is COMPLETELY FICTIONAL, and meant for the sole purpose of telling an entertaining story. DO NOT TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY! IT WILL SEVERELY IMPAIR YOUR ENJOYMENT!

So, we clear? Awesome. :) Happy reading!

* * *

_It's real. Keep the owl._

Bee's heart raced, as did her mind, which was now filled with questions. Who had sent this? And why? Were they telling the truth? Or was it some kind of elaborate prank? She could think of a few people at school who had mocked her for her Harry Potter obsession, but she never would have guessed anyone would go this far. Then again, she wasn't exactly a social butterfly. She spent most of her time reading, not making friends. Who was she to judge what someone would or wouldn't do? Then again, why would they go to so much trouble? It was summer; most people were off on beach vacations, or camping trips, or spending their days lazing about in their rooms. And how would they have trained an owl to deliver a message like this? So many questions, and she couldn't find the answers to any of them.

Glancing up at the owl—_her_ owl, now—she whispered, "You think it's true?"

The bird clicked its beak, and gave a swift bob of the head. Although this appeared to be a yes, Bee was hesitant to accept it (it was a _bird_, after all). It really seemed too good to be true. She decided not to worry about it. If it wasn't true, then at the very least, she had a new pet. If it _was_ true...

Bee shook her head. No sense getting her hopes up. Folding up the note and sticking it in her sock drawer, she slid back into her bed. The owl gave a quiet screech, and she turned to look at it again. Sitting up, she held out an arm, and the owl swooped over to her and landed on her outstretched arm. Its talons scratched against her skin, but it didn't really hurt, so she ignored it.

"So... I hope you're not offended by this, but... are you male or female?" It blinked, and she remembered that, being an _owl_, it couldn't respond to that question. "Okay, then... we'll stick with yes or no questions. Are you a boy?" The bird's head swiveled around, then twitched back into place. Bee bit her lip. "Then you're a girl?" It bobbed its head again.

_Holy hell,_ thought Bee, _I'm talking to an owl. And we're communicating effectively_.

"Whew," she exhaled sharply. "Um... I guess I should come up with a name for you, huh?" Another head bob, then she clicked her beak. "Right... how about... Lola?" The responding screech made her jump, and she shushed the bird. "Okay, you don't like that one! But please be quiet!"

Bee sighed, racking for a suitable name. She hadn't been serious about Lola anyway, it was just the first thing that popped into her head. Distractedly, she glanced around her room, hoping for some source of inspiration. It came, thankfully, as she spotted a book of Greek mythology her mother had given to her years ago.

"Artemis?" she suggested. The owl's head perked up, and Bee smiled. "I think that's the one. Artemis... yeah, it suits you." Artemis stretched out her neck and nipped softly at Bee's ear, and she giggled. "Well, Artemis, I really ought to get to bed now before I get so wound up I don't sleep the night. I don't have any sort of cage or, uh... place of residence for you, so just... wander, I guess. But make sure no one sees you, okay? And be back by morning."

With one final head bob, Artemis flapped her wings and soared out the window and into the night. Bee felt a sense of dread; what if Artemis didn't come back? She supposed it would serve her right for bonding with an owl, which just happened to fly in through her window, carrying a message that may or may not be true, with the news that her favorite fantasy world actually existed.

_What a night_, she thought. Suddenly exhausted, Bee collapsed onto her bead, and was asleep before she could be bothered turning the light back off.

* * *

"MOM! _MOM!_ BEE HAS AN OWL IN HER ROOM!"

Bee started a wake. "God! Julie, get out of my room!"

Julie remained where she stood, folding her arms. "Why do you have an owl?"

"Because," she groaned, too tired to deal with her at the moment.

"You're not gonna get away with this one," Julie persisted. "You didn't have a pet last night, so either you snuck out, or you had someone here in the middle of the night, and both of those are against the rules."

"God, shut _up!_" Bee snapped, pressing a pillow over her head.

A moment later, she heard Mom's footsteps, and a gasp. "Julie," she said, her voice stern, "go downstairs and wait for me in the car." _The car?_ Bee wondered, then remembered that today was Julie's first day of school.

"But—"

"_Now_."

Bee heard a sigh, followed by Julie stomping out of her room and down the stairs. She remained still; was she really in that much trouble? Mom closed the door, then the room fell silent. Bee held her breath, bracing herself for the inevitable.

"You know, don't you?"

_What?_ Bee peeked out from beneath the pillow. Mom wore a strange expression on her face, somewhere between dread and defeat. "Know what?" she asked. Mom sighed, and moved to sit down on her bed. Bee sat up, disregarding the pillow, and waited for her mother to answer her. Whatever it was, it was obviously serious.

"I was afraid this would happen someday. You've always been so much like your grandmother, and she knew that from the very start." Bee couldn't tell if she was stalling, or if this was part of her explanation. "That's why... I told her to keep her visits to a minimum."

"You did _what?_" she asked, shocked.

Mom smiled sadly. "I knew that if she came to see us too often, eventually the truth would come out." She took a deep breath. "And it only got worse when those books came out."

A light bulb suddenly went off in Bee's head. Ever since she started reading the _Harry Potter_ series, Mom had always seemed very anxious about it. She'd written it off as typical parental concern for a daughter who had found a new obsession, but now it seemed as if it were something else entirely.

"Oh, my God," she mumbled. "It really is true?"

Reluctantly, Mom nodded. "Yes, it is."

A few seconds of silence, and then, "WHAT THE HELL, MOM!"

Mom's expression instantly switched. "Don't you raise your voice to me, Blythe Elliot! And watch your language!"

"You've been keeping this from me?" Bee went on, shooting up from her bed and pacing around the room. "All these years, I've read the books, and wished I could be part of them, and you _knew_ that it was true! And you kept it from me!"

"If you'd sit down and listen, then I could explain!" With a huff, Bee returned to her bed and sat moodily on it, refusing to look her mother in the eye. "The truth is, Bee... you, and I, and Julie are all Squibs."

Her heart sank. "I... I'm a Squib?" Mom nodded again, and Bee asked, "What about Grandma? Is she a Squib?"

"No. She's a witch. She went to Hogwarts and everything." Mom heaved another sigh, shifting so that she was more comfortable. "Look, Bee... I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I had my reasons, which if you knew, you would understand."

"Then tell me," she insisted. "I have a right to know."

Mom chewed on her lip, a habit which she had passed to Bee. After a moment, she said, "There are some things that _I_ can't tell you. You'll have to ask Grandma."

She sighed. "Fine."

With that, Mom stood up and left the room. Bee sat, silently, for a long time, mulling over what the events of the past twelve hours. She'd formed a bond with Grandma, which she now understood. Then she'd received a note, _and_ an owl, informing her that the wizarding world truly existed. Now that she thought about it, she was fairly sure it was Grandma who had sent the note. She would have to confirm that. And now, she knew that it _was_ the truth, and that her own mother had been keeping it from her, and forcing Grandma to keep it from her, for the past seventeen years.

One thought came to mind: _Grr._

Bee took some calming breaths, then got up and changed clothes. Not in the mood or mindset to remember her grandmother's old-fashioned beliefs, she put on a pair of jean cutoffs and an orange-and-yellow-striped tank top.

When she found Grandma in the living room, she was only mildly surprised to find her in a dress so similar to the one she'd been wearing last night, she thought it might be the very same one. If it weren't for the difference in the skirt's length and color pattern, she would have been convinced. The shawl, on the other hand, was exactly the same.

In the corner of her eye, Bee noticed the car pulling out of the driveway as Mom took Julie to school. They were alone. Taking a breath, she walked into the living room.

Grandma looked up, smiled, then her face fell. "Good heavens, Blythe! What on Earth happened to the rest of your trousers?"

Bee suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, and ignored the question. "Grandma... I need to talk to you about something."

She smiled. "By the tone of your voice, I'm assuming you got my owl."

"I knew it," she whispered, then louder, "Yes, I got it."

She nodded. "Your mother doesn't approve."

"My mom kept a secret from me for seventeen years," Bee pointed out. "At this point I really don't care whether she approves or not."

"Don't be disrespectful, Blythe," Grandma scolded lightly. "Despite the mistake Verity made, she is still your mother."

"Sorry," she mumbled, then opted to switch subjects. "She... also mentioned that you can tell me more about... magic," she finished with a whisper.

Grandma chuckled. "I was under the impression you were an expert. After all, you did read those books."

"So it's exactly like the story? That really happened?"

"No," she shook her head. "In fact, the author made several mistakes. Well, now, that doesn't sound right; it makes it seem like she didn't know what she was doing, when she actually did."

"Wait... does that mean—"

"J.K. Rowling is a witch," Grandma confirmed. Bee couldn't believe it. All this time, and she never knew, never even guessed... she was a witch all the time!

Grandma went on, "She was a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_—yes, that's real, as well. To be honest, she remained mostly true to our world, describing everything in perfect detail. And many of the names and historical facts are correct. However, she grossly embellished the story."

Bee frowned. "Then... what's the _real_ story?"

She paused, then reached into an oversized pocket in her dress, and pulled out a newspaper. Bee couldn't keep the smile off her face as she looked at a _real_ issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Just as it was described in the book, the pictures moved, and the words wrapped themselves around them to accentuate the stories. One photo in particular caught her interest: it was one of a man, probably in his late twenties, with black, messy hair, and a familiar pair of glasses.

_Harry Potter_.

"That's..." she breathed.

"Read," Grandma instructed her.

Bee swallowed thickly, then her eyes flicked to the headline of the article: "'Potter' Series a Sham." With mixed emotions, she did as she was told.

_The Muggle world is buzzing with the highly acclaimed Harry Potter series, written by J.K. Rowling, now former writer for the _Prophet_. The story, though highly enjoyable and exceptionally popular, should not be taken as fact. Due to thousands of letters from obsessed fans, and also potential antagonists, the following persons and groups would like to set the record straight._

_First of all, the Potters have never faced such extreme tribulation. Though James and Lily do recall bringing in a troublesome youth by the name of Tom Riddle, they have completely discounted the notion that anyone possessing that name has risen to great power, and killed them._

"_We're alive and well, as you can plainly see," James told the _Prophet_. "Not a single undead among us."_

_Their oldest son, Harry, the inspiration for this series, admitted to having spoken with Ms. Rowling. The young Hogwarts professor was interviewed during his seventh year for the Triwizard Tournament—in which he did, truthfully, participate, though he was of age, despite what is said in the series. Mr. Potter's description of Ms. Rowling closely resembled Ms. Rowling's own portrayal of the fictional character Rita Skeeter. He depicted the author as somewhat demanding, uncomfortably forward, and highly irritating. "It's ironic that she seems to have put herself in the role of Rita Skeeter," he said with a laugh. "I have to wonder if she did that intentionally, or if she doesn't realize just how much she is like that character."_

_The Potters have four children: Harry, Daphne, Shane, and Madelynn. We were unable to speak with the younger three, as they are each away from home at the present time, but their family is a happy one, and by no means broken._

_Aside from the Potters, there were several people said to have passed away in a wizarding war. Among them are Sirius Black, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin—all of whom are noted Aurors in the Ministry of Magic. Also on that list is Fred Weasley, who, with his twin brother, does indeed run a joke shop in Diagon Alley._

_The Weasley family, too, discredited Ms Rowling's words on their characters. Though their son, Ron, was in the same year as Mr. Potter, they did not possess the close friendship portrayed in the series. When asked about it, however, the young Mr. Weasley admits that Ms. Rowling might have been spot on with their bond. "He's a great guy, a fantastic mate," he told us, smiling. "I honestly don't know how we weren't friends in school. Guess we just never got around to it."_

_Ironically, another character in Ms. Rowling's books that has been inaccurately described is Hermione Potter, nee Granger. Now a highly respected Ministry official, she was more than happy to correct the errors. "Harry and I certainly were close, all through our years at school. We didn't actually start dating until about a year after we left, but... I always knew he would be important to me. There was never anyone else, really." The Potters live in a modest house in Hogsmeade village, which is just a few miles away from Hogwarts._

_Another misrepresented family is the Malfoys. Though very adamant and vocal in their standpoint about blood status, the family is not inherently evil, as depicted in Ms. Rowling's series. Draco Malfoy, also a professor at Hogwarts, explained, "I was raised to believe that I was a higher class, but not that I, as a person, was better than anyone. Being in a wealthy family, we had more benefits and comforts than most, but we're human, just like everyone else."_

_Professor Malfoy also noted that, though he did know of Harry Potter in school, they were neither friends nor enemies. "I was three years behind him, as a matter of fact," he stated. "We didn't cross paths very often. When we did, he always seemed very... introverted. He didn't like attention. And he still doesn't, to a certain extent. He's an excellent teacher, but outside the classroom, he's very laid-back."_

_Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge does not feel it is necessary to alert the Muggles of her fraud. "Despite their admiration of the story, they don't seem to believe it's true," he explained. "Any attempt to oust Ms. Rowling would only draw unwanted attention from the Muggles, potentially leading to the discovery of our world."_

_The books have been formally discredited within the wizarding world, and Ms. Rowling's employment at the _Prophet_ terminated. We can only hope that the Muggles will remain happily ignorant of the truth._

Bee lowered her hands, and with them the paper, looking at Grandma. "This... is what really happened?"

She smiled sadly. "I'm afraid so. The story Rowling weaves is far more captivating, but it's far from the truth."

There was a moment of tense silence, in which Bee processed what she'd just read. She found herself torn between happiness, due to the existence of magic, and utter heartbreak, for the story, and the author, she'd loved and revered for the better part of her childhood... it was all fake. The characters might be real, but the weren't the same. J.K. Rowling had _lied_, intentionally, just to sell books.

"I need to sit down," she announced, then unceremoniously plopped down onto the couch beside Grandma. At the worried expression on her face, a rather unpleasant thought crossed Bee's mind. "So... if I'm a Squib, that means I don't have any magical abilities, do I?"

"Well, that's not entirely correct," Grandma replied. "Though you cannot perform actual magic, you are still a part of our world. If you weren't, I'd have the Ministry on my arse for breaking the Statute of Secrecy." She laughed at Bee's surprised look, then continued. "You are able to see the things that Muggles cannot see. Perhaps you already have, and you just haven't realized it."

"But I can't do magic," she repeated, and Grandma nodded. "Then... why tell me?"

Her wrinkles seemed to deepen and increase as a wide smile stretched across her face. "Because you can change that."

* * *

A/N: Yes, sorry, I'm giving you another cliffie. This chapter was getting a wee bit on the long side. So what do you think? Please don't hate me! Like I said, I absolutely love J.K. Rowling, and I would never actually accuse her of fraud. This is meant to entertain, nothing more. That aside, please review!


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